Without a Voice, Life Goes On
by LaraAelric
Summary: Life without a voice wasn't the end of the world. But it certainly was an entirely new world of experiences. At times miserable. At times amusing. And always…different. (A collaborative "round robin" by laraaelric, melissa7187, and pdt-b.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - This fic has been a collaborate effort by laraaelric, melissa7187, and pdt-b. We're calling it a "round robin" story (as in, we each took turns writing segments that have now been merged together to create a cohesive story, rather than a series of 'read mores' on Tumblr). This is an AU-esc story that deals with the 'what if' of Chloe's nodes operation causing her to lose her voice. We hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Life without a voice wasn't the end of the world. But it certainly was an entirely new world of experiences. At times miserable. At times amusing. And always…different.

Different - was pointing to a menu and ordering the turkey sandwich, then realizing she had to be fast to catch the waiter before he left to make sure he left off the mayonnaise. Followed by the embarrassment of having to send it back because he misunderstood and left the pickles off instead.

She'd eat it anyway, except that she was allergic.

Different - was answering the phone on reflex every time it rang. Followed by an awkward silence as the person chattering away on the other end realized she wouldn't be chattering back.

She always sent a text afterward, but there was only so many times 'sorry' would cut it.

Different - was watching from the sidelines as the Bellas practices went on without her, her solos divided reluctantly between the rest of the girls. Followed by sympathetic looks as they all filed out of the room, Aubrey always the last to go, hesitating yet leaving as she just shook her head.

She always ran through the choreography once they were gone, just to make sure she hadn't forgotten it.

Whereas before her hands and its constant energy waved in conjunction with her voice, nowadays, they were often found clutching a pen and notepad for those "just in case times" when pointing at something wasn't enough, and facial expressions needed deciphering. The insult of "talking merely to hear your own voice" was something she'd have given up many things for. The silence was deafening as it seemed everyone didn't know how to talk to her anymore. As if her vocal silence also required theirs. And it didn't. Not at all. Yet, who could she tell without them offering their sorrow and pity all in a glance? So it remained this way, a dwindling of time and interactions with others.

She noticed more things now. Concentrating on listening to the voices of others, she noticed the ebb and rise of the different Bellas as they ran through the set, but more importantly, she noticed the gaps in between. Among the roar that sometimes she could only hear between her ears, she wondered at why Lily was constantly beat-boxing at such a low volume when she realized that other than Fat Amy who had claimed that she had the best hearing in Australia, for someone with ears, she was the only one who had actually focused her attention on Lily. Everyone else was too busy trying to match footsteps and hand gestures to each song to think about watching the others.

She could remember how it had all happened. The who's and the what's and the where's of the operation and waking up to a completely different life. But she could never wrap her head around the why. Why her? Why did it happen just before they were accepted back into finals? To something that had utterly defined who she was and left her dumbstruck and lost in the aftermath. And for as much as she pondered it, she could never, ever find the answer that stopped the aching in her chest.

She could close her eyes and try to wish it away, but she was far too intelligent to consider the ideas from her youth. There were no stars in the sky to wish on or prayers she could whisper that would change the fate that was handed to her. And so began the long process of simply getting used to it all. To adjusting. To growing. To saying goodbye to the way things were and starting over again.

To graduating.

Most nights, she couldn't even remember what her voice sounded like. The tone or the pitch or the way that words had slid off of her tongue and out from behind her teeth. The quivering before a sob or the crack when she hit that note that was just not for her. The way that a word could change everything. How it could make someone hate you or fall in love with you. How it had made Aubrey her own.

And as much as she wished, that girl was here to say. Those arms wouldn't push her away and were instead content to just hold her a little tighter and tell her that it was okay. Kissing the top of her head and rubbing circles into her back. Whispering "I love you" and knowing that it would never be returned again.

Some days she felt the silence suffocating her. She had never imagined that hearing her own thoughts would be so frightening when it was really the only time she heard a voice speaking directly to herself. Every time she opened her mouth to say something, she clamped it shut with a sharp click of teeth meeting each other and the pursed lip look that seemed to be her default expression these days.

Her head was filled with thoughts these days, thoughts and worries that she could not and would not ever tell Aubrey. The blonde was already worried enough and actually giving voice (oh sweet irony that) to the probable permanent loss of her voice would just solidify a future that was filled with more dread than was imaginable.

It was if the loss of her voice had rendered her diminished and people did not how to deal with the loss. Oftentimes they would speak louder and slower, as if her hearing and comprehension had been cut away with those damnable nodes. If it were not the fact that her classes had a participation requirement, she would have opted to sit at the back and watch the class on action. Sitting closer was no longer an option when each time her professors looked to her for an answer, the disappointment was palpable and maddening. She had opinions and instead, she would swallow them and jot them down so she could post them onto the e-board that formed the other part of the classroom.

* * *

It wasn't _all_ bad, at least. When she was feeling particularly down, she took comfort in thinking about some of the new things that had developed from a lack of voice, things that would never have come to be with it (and while none of these things were enough to make her glad for her loss, they were enough to get her through the day).

They were little things, mostly.

There were the movie nights with the Bellas that took the place of loud drunken games of truth or dare, a tradition that had spanned a season but willingly been abandoned for a "quieter" activity. It was almost a nice turn of events, being able to truly appreciate a movie because there was no way to gossip through it.

There was the rhythm game that sometimes erupted during rehearsals, where one Bella - usually Amy or Cynthia Rose - would start clapping or stomping along to the music. All of the Bellas enthusiastically learned to jump in - even Aubrey, who had at first been against the "interruption" but had quickly changed her mind when she saw Amy wildly gesturing for Chloe to join in. It was really nice, she had to admit, being able to still feel included in practices even if it wasn't actually part of the performance.

The best, though, was the "code" she and Aubrey developed that brought back memories of childhood adventures, where she and her best friend had become secret agents and created an elaborate series of hand gestures that served as their only means of communication for a week straight. She had brought the game back accidentally during a "conversation" with the blonde. To keep up an air of normalcy, Aubrey always made a point to include Chloe in conversations through the use of 'yes or no' responses. (Admittedly, she slipped up from time to time. Those times were the worst - seeing the look on Aubrey's face, the bright look draining away for an instant before she always schooled herself back into neutrality, after asking Chloe a question that required more than a shake of the head. But the moment would pass, with Aubrey picking her commentary back up where she left off and Chloe pretending she didn't notice the mistake.)

It was during one such mistake that the code developed. Aubrey had called a question from the other room. Rather than waiting in silence until the blonde stopped what she was doing to come repeat her words, Chloe had knocked hard against the table. The sound had been met at first with confusion as Aubrey came into the room, a puzzled frown in place. She had ended up repeating the question anyway, and Chloe had repeated her response, eyeing Aubrey to make sure her meaning had been made clear.

The code had developed from there, starting with the basics. They had made an afternoon out of it, experimenting with a variety of knocks and silly gestures that would enable them to hold conversations past 'yeses' and 'nos'. How she had loved helping Aubrey puzzle out what sounds hadn't been used yet to broaden their new "vocabulary". Loved hearing Aubrey laugh at the insistent knocks when discussing something ridiculous. Loved watching Aubrey's frustrated pacing as she argued with a repetition of sounds as easily as if they were words.

It had been nice. It had all been nice.

But more importantly, it had almost felt normal.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't enough though.

It would never be enough for her, no matter how many times she lied to herself and tried to convince her heart otherwise. A knock was lovely and a smile could do wonders to her insides, filling her stomach with butterflies and twisting her heart into knots, but you just couldn't replace the company of a voice. The lilt, the enunciation, the tone, the…everything.

She missed all of the little moments that didn't mean a thing to her months ago, but now haunted her dreams. She missed the way that Chloe's voice would crack whenever she got angry, hating the confrontation and her voice squeaking as her jaw tensed and the little patch beneath her chin grew red. The hitch in her breath when Aubrey pushed her a step too far, which was practically her specialty, and the wavering before her voice eventually cracked open and the emotions seeped out.

She missed how warm and soothing it would sound on a Sunday morning, thick from sleep and a little scratchy as Chloe swallowed to moisten her dry mouth. The way that her hair would fall into her eyes as she tried to stretch out her relaxation for just a little while longer and the whimper that would escape from her throat when Aubrey would eventually rise and open up the blinds. The flop of a pillow over her face and a tiny laugh when Aubrey would pull it off and kiss her. The moan when they spent just a little longer in bed, worshiping each other before finally rising to greet the rest of the world.

She longed for simple nights, like her favorite one from months ago when Chloe hid out in the living room of their apartment, peering down at the laptop sat on top of her knees and giggling every so often. Clasping a hand over her mouth when Aubrey eventually came out to check on her and begging her not to look at her search history when Aubrey swiped the laptop and dashed back to their bedroom, locking the door behind her. The mumbled "I hate you sometimes" when Aubrey raised an eyebrow and mentioned the overwhelming number of dumb cat videos that populated her history. The laugh that turned into a growl and then a smile as she tackled her girlfriend down onto the couch and explained the benefits of their viewings between tickles and stolen kisses.

The thing she missed the most though was the even cadence of the words "I love you" when they spilt from Chloe's lips. Through a smile at dinner, whispered between bites of dessert and sips of wine, or in spare moments at Bellas' rehearsals when the other girls wouldn't hear. Murmured and soft before drifting off to sleep and whined into a cell phone on those nights when they couldn't be together. Teamed with teary eyes when they departed for summer break and paired with kisses when they reunited.

They were always strong and perfect, never wavering when they slipped from Chloe's lips. The only thing that she was sure of in her life. The conviction matching her pitch and the even beat of her heart as one word became two and then three.

It was only now that she realized that they never said it enough.

* * *

It was a strange sensation of limbo - held between absolute loss and something else that neither of them dared to give a name to. There was the directionless-ness that seemed to settle between them, as if, the inability to give voice to Chloe's thoughts had tilted the balance too far and so Aubrey had pulled back into a reluctant silence as well. Even with the shared knocking that seemed to have improved Chloe's mood could not be maintained. Aubrey wondered at whether sign-language would be a more effective method of communication, or that, in combination with a significantly better texting plan on both of their smart phones. While Aubrey might not have minded the hesitance that happened too often in their efforts to communicate with one another, she would have given up many more things to rid Chloe of the frustration that dotted so much of their conversation; Aubrey knew that not being able to hear her own voice gnawed at Chloe's well-being a lot more than she'd ever think to express. She may have thought that she had hidden her distress from everyone but Aubrey was not 'everyone,' and Aubrey might have been pleased to acknowledge that on some days, she knew Chloe's moods a bit better than she did herself.

So there it was, Aubrey Posen might not have been an ENT specialist, but certainly her piles of research had directed her towards one of the more notable laryngologists within the Greater Atlanta region. If not within the region, Aubrey would continue to look until she found an answer to her satisfaction. At the very least, she refused to surrender (immediately or otherwise) to the notion that Chloe's vocal rest was to become permanent. Maybe a trip up to New York City was in order, it seemed that there was a better concentration of specialists in New York - proximity to Broadway and its many song-and-dance people had to count for something.

Yes, Aubrey Posen had everything figured out - or at least, was on her way towards that. Weeks of late nights spent on her laptop and mornings spent making phone calls once Chloe finally dragged herself off to classes (even without verbal disagreement, the redhead still managed to convey her distaste for 8 a.m. classes loud and clear) had left the blonde with as much knowledge as she could arm herself with concerning vocal complications and cures. She knew the right people. She knew the right places.

The only thing she didn't know was how to get Chloe to agree to any of it. Though it was clear that she was unhappy, Chloe had become increasingly good at covering up her feelings, hiding behind a smile and non-verbal antics. She had become equally good at tuning out what she didn't want to hear and, unfortunately, that tended to include anything that approached the matter of her voice. When she had first returned to school, explaining the complications with a sad smile and a shrug of her shoulders, they had spent a number of nights together on the couch, Chloe listening to Aubrey's optimism about exactly when her voice would return. But as the weeks had dragged on and the first deadlines for positive signs of recovery had come and gone, their nights on the couch had become filled more with silence than encouragement.

Aubrey didn't understand how Chloe could resign herself to a life of silence. She was a person who believed in science and if it was her in this situation instead of Chloe, she would jump on any possible hope of getting better. She would believe in their scalpels and the precision of their hands and let them do what they were trained to do. And she liked to believe that she wouldn't be afraid, but even she knew that was a lie. And so, she was okay with letting it go. She kept the contacts in her phone and saved all of the e-mails and simply kept on living.

There were no other options. There was no falling out of love with Chloe Beale.

Some nights she just wanted to shake her. She wanted to snap and yell the words that were hiding behind her teeth as she gritted them and moved on. She wanted arguments that would shake the walls and the half-truths to slip from her lips; the things that they meant in the heated moments but would be ashamed of saying later. She wanted the frustration and the edge, the anger that she knew Chloe was harboring towards her spilling out and digging into her heart.

She wanted to feel what she had done. She wanted it to shake her and make her eyes fill with tears. She wanted the cold dagger to be shoved into her chest and the look of betrayal that only came with absolute truth. The truth that could never be revealed with black ink on white paper or jumbled texts at three in the morning.

She wanted to hear that **she** was to blame. To hear the words whispered from Chloe's lips, angry and violent as she surrendered her heart and let go. To finally be able to sleep without being haunted by the past. To be able to take a shower without using it as an excuse to cry; balling up her fists as the air grew damp and sobbing under the guise of water pounding against dark blue tile.

She wanted to breathe again. She wanted something to replace those finals words that Chloe had uttered to her before her surgery and the end of their days.

_"Don't talk to me, Bree." Chloe whispered in the darkened bus, turning to face the window and stiffening as Aubrey sat back a little and stared at her. Her face illuminated every so often with a passing car or street light and Aubrey didn't want to move, content to watch her pout for the next two hours until they finally arrived at home._

_Moving meant surrender and giving up on them. Admitting that Beca had been right and that she had overreacted. That she had been wrong. Nothing could be scarier. And so, she settled on sitting there in silence, daring Chloe to make the first move._

_"I can't talk to you when I'm this angry."_

And now she would never talk to her again and there was no convincing her otherwise until months after the operation as they sat in bed and read. They had spent the day at Chloe's sister's wedding and as the maid of honor, it was her duty to give a speech. She had written it as soon as her sister announced the engagement, filling three whole pages of her favorite notebook with anecdotes and stories of their bond. But when the moment came for her to speak and she had to pass her words to her younger sister to say aloud for her, her heart broke all over again.

It had become too much.

And as Aubrey skimmed over the words of her mystery novel, unable to concentrate on the screen of the Kindle in her hands as her mind raced, she heard her girlfriend break. It had started at as whimper, but quickly turned into a sob. Her face crumpled and her cheeks turned red and Aubrey couldn't look away. She dropped the device onto the bed and scooted over to take the girl in her arms, pressing her wet face into her chest and whispering the words that she knew could make this better.

"Please get the operation, Chlo. We can't do this anymore. I need to hear your voice again."

And as her girlfriend slowly unraveled, she felt her hand wrap around her wrist and squeeze it once before letting it go. She froze, the breath catching in her throat before she reached out for Chloe's hand and held it tightly in her own, desperately hoping that it had been a sign. That it was finally over. That it was going to be okay.

"Are you ready to call Dr. Darcy?" Aubrey whispered, holding on to the last shreds of hope that she could muster. And when Chloe squeezed just once, harkening back to their code of knocking on tables and walls and doors, Aubrey got her answer.

She was going to get the surgery.


	3. Chapter 3

Aubrey had nearly forgotten that even silence had its gradients of scale. Before the surgery and before everything that had happened in between the proverbial "then" and "now," silence was a punishment (to Aubrey) because she had depended upon Chloe speaking out and challenging her and telling her when she was wrong and what Chloe's thoughts were on everything, whether it was Bellas or any number of infinite topics that ever came up (poking fun at clown noses had been an especially interesting discussion). When Chloe was silent, it left one less way for Aubrey to find her way through the minefield that seemed to dot their relationship; as much as she tried to read Chloe's expressions on her face, she always felt a bubble of amused frustration when she heard other people describe Chloe as an absolute open book of a personality. Chloe may have freely spoken about certain subjects, but Aubrey recognized and knew that there was an infinite number of subjects that Chloe did not speak about, and would never share that information with anyone other than those closest to her.

Now, the silence was even more deafening because it applied even to Chloe's responses - the tapping and knocks came less frequently, and sometimes, when Aubrey asked a question, the pause would lengthen to a point where Aubrey felt she should ask the question again even though she and Chloe both knew that Chloe had heard the question and was choosing to not answer it (which was an answer on its own). Not hearing or even feeling the responses raised a swirl of doubt inside herself, so reminiscent of the stress-vomiting that she'd thought to be left in her past. The second-guessing that made her wonder whether she had pushed Chloe to a decision that she now regretted, and a wave of guilt that swept over her as she fought to interpret this latest round of silence in the best possible light. Surely this silence was as low as things could get; afterall, Chloe was already choosing to live without speaking and now, she was even closing off the remaining few avenues of communication that had allowed Aubrey into her world.

Maybe it was selfish to hope that the surgery would restore at least her voice if not her range. Surely it was one of these futile wishes for things to go back to where they were, with Chloe speaking to her; that this faint hope could be granted even if it required more time under a knife and prayers that technology and medicine had moved forward enough to restore something that had been lost. How ironic that she would have to place her own hopes and dreams into the hands of a surgeon that she could no more berate or improve or perfect than she could ever have changed Chloe herself.

* * *

It had been foolish to think that the weeks leading up to the surgery would be any better than the months they had already endured. If anything, finalizing the date had sparked an even further decline in Chloe's mood, as though they had set a date for disaster rather than one of possible recovery.

Aubrey could see the hope in Chloe's eyes when they talked about the surgery, but she could just as easily see the fear that the redhead tried even harder to hide. The latter wasn't so obvious when they were face-to-face, but she saw it in the way Chloe would pace when she thought no one was watching, and in the way she would stare apprehensively at the date on the calendar, circled in red.

She almost preferred these secret glimpses of Chloe over the forced smiles - once reserved for appeasing the excited and concerned faces of the Bellas - that were now thrown even her way.

These glimpses, at least, were honest. Even if they tore her apart to watch and be able to do nothing about.

And eventually, the weeks of agony slipped off of the calendar until they reached the day rimmed in red. The day they had been dreading. The day that they had been hoping for after the initial consultations. That they dreamt of in warm hues and unimaginable nightmares. The thing that never left their minds. The day that all of their hopes were built upon, even though neither would ever admit to that. The day of their reckoning.

The night before, Aubrey just held Chloe close and didn't say a word. There was nothing she could say that could vocalize the anxiety and the pressure that was on both of them. Of how her heart ached as she imagined the worst and gave up control, entrusting it in scalpels and steady hands. She was terrified and the worst part of it all was that she had no idea how Chloe was doing. All she knew was that her hands were holding hers a little tighter than they had ever before and that she had to be more scared than she could even fathom.

Neither of them got much sleep that night. It was impossible to sleep through a riot in your head.

And then, morning came and there was no turning back. They showered in silence, crowding under the shower head and just holding each other as the water crashed down. Chloe dressed in comfortable clothing that would be shed in favor of a hospital gown and Aubrey touched her bare back for a brief moment before a t-shirt covered the skin. Aubrey drank awful coffee as her eyes stung from the lack of sleep and she watched Chloe from the kitchen, her heart breaking as the girl paced the living room and hugged herself.

They were scared. They were brave. There was no going back.

They followed the rules perfectly, just like their parents taught them when they were little girls. Before all of the mess and the disillusion, when everything made sense. Aubrey didn't disobey. She followed them perfectly, ticking off the items on the list given to them by the doctor and keeping Chloe in line. Don't eat, don't drink, don't smoke. Don't panic. Keep calm and think positive.

_Don't run away. Stay with me. Come back to me._

And when she saw Chloe on that hospital bed, looking impossibly young against the flat white sheets and under the pale fluorescent lights, she had to beg herself to stay. Her head pounded and her heart swelled and her own throat ached as Chloe stared back at her in silence. The tears were building, but she did not break. She obeyed the rules.

_Don't cry. Don't break down. Don't do this to her. Don't run._

And after she squeezed that hand one last time and kissed the top of her head before saying "See you later", she allowed herself to finally break down. To give in to the strain of months without that voice. Of holding back and aching with her. For staying with her even when it hurt. For being good.

It was the longest morning of her life. She paced. She ate bad pastries from the expensive vending machine and poured stale coffee down her throat. She didn't leave.

And then he came.

He was handsome and lovely in his dark blue scrubs and perfect smile. His hand was warm as he shook hers and he was a king of small talk as he took her someplace quiet to chat. His office smelt of cigars and hickory and she felt safe.

It was all in the eyes. They betrayed him as he opened up the file and slid a box of tissue towards Aubrey, preparing her for the words that were aching behind his clenched teeth. They were sympathetic and downcast, never focusing on her or the words on the page. A brilliant shade of blue just like Chloe's and if Aubrey gave into her heart and focused on them, she could have had one more moment of hope before losing it all.

Her head won out in the end. And she knew without his words or looking at the shiny print-outs and scans.

She **knew**. And that was when she started to run.

It had failed.


	4. Chapter 4

The thing about operations was that when it came down to the nitty gritty, everyone had to place their faith, hope and dreams into the hands (and machines) of the specialists that were going to be doing the work. There only so much "preparation" any one person could do before it got to be too much. Yet, when it came down to your own voice, one of the few things that could define your own sense of self, who better than yourself to test if the operation had found any measure of success. If anything, your own ears would never lie to you.

By the time Aubrey had exhausted her well of tears, and managed to pull herself together enough to begin and try to explain why something that had been expected to return a voice had instead stolen it (again!), Chloe had already realized the bitter truth for herself. For what felt like hours, she sat alone, surrounded by the silence of the recovery suite, the hum of conversation now a sad reminder of exactly what was being lost once more. It might have been a kindness instead, to pretend slumber as opposed to having to face Aubrey so soon after the procedure.

As soon as she 'rested' her eyes, Chloe's body decided that darkness was a better friend than all the thoughts running amok within, so slumber was no longer pretend but real. Time passed with the subtle whirr of carts being pushed along the vinyl flooring, and the subtle ding of the elevator doors opening and then shut. The quiet tap of Aubrey's footsteps were already familiar to anyone who had spent a few hours on this particular floor, but somehow, Chloe had long since learned to automatically accept and then file away that sound as familiar and safe and did not turn towards the door as the steps grew louder.

So that is how Aubrey found her, eyes closed with a placid expression that could have conquered the world with a smile had there been one. Every time Aubrey tried to open her mouth and say something, anything at all; that catch in her throat expanded and threatened to swallow her tears, leaving her speechless. Ironic, since all of this effort had been expended trying to recover Chloe's own voice. Instead, Chloe's return to consciousness was met by a head of blonde that had tucked itself against her right hand, a litany of apologies, explanations, and sadness being silently muttered against her fingers.

"I'm sorry," were the first words to break free from the death grip of Aubrey's throat. They slipped out, past the 'It's going to be okays' and 'I'm here for yous' that she had been rehearsing on her way down the hall. Her body was bent over the bed, her head not yet lowered with emotion as she grasped Chloe's hand with her own, her thumb running over smooth knuckles in mindless repetition.

Her eyes shut for a moment and she took a deep, shaky breath as her mind tested the words again, deciding that they were better than false securities. Those could wait until Chloe woke from her slumber; these - these words that fell so thickly on her tongue when Chloe was awake were much better suited for while she was asleep. It was a coward's way out, but Aubrey was tired of being brave.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, eyelids tightening their hold on the darkness. Even now, she couldn't bring herself to look Chloe in the eye as she apologized, but finally saying the words aloud lifted a weight from her shoulders that she hadn't realized was there. It was as though a crucial log had been removed from the dam, and words flowed out in a rush that was, for now, unstoppable.

She could hear Chloe's voice in her mind, an amused '_Why are you apologizing?_' that was so clear that she grasped at it, imagining for a brief moment that it was real even as beeping from hospital machines forced her back to reality. "I feel like it's my fault," she admitted while the line between illusion and reality was still blurred. "I pushed you too hard. You knew- _I_ knew you shouldn't have been hitting those notes, but I just pushed. And kept pushing, even when everyone else caught on and told you to stop. It was hurting you, but you kept going for _me_, Chloe."

She drew another ragged breath, fighting another round of tears that she thought would have been depleted by now. Tears would be easier than words, but Aubrey refused to give in to them. Too long had these words been left unspoken. She couldn't wait any longer. "I should have listened to them. I should have listened to _you_. But I was selfish. I just wanted to win, and-" Her voice cracked. "And all it did was hurt us. Beca was right, Chlo'. She wasn't the one ruining our chances of winning. _I_ was. But I was too stubborn, too selfish to admit it."

Her head lowered with the exhaustion of admission, and she finally rested it against Chloe's side, her thumb pressed tightly against a non-responsive knuckle. "It was my fault," she said again softly. "And now it's too late to make things right."

Aubrey didn't realize that Chloe was aware of what she had been trying to say, until her fingers flexed, and tapped against still moving lips. The shock that she might not have been as silent as she thought she had been, was enough to make Aubrey stop her words, and actually look upwards, bracing herself for a sign that yes, she was completely at fault.

Instead, Chloe's eyes were filled with compassion and brimming with tears, a sight that immediately caused Aubrey to lose the fight against her own. As the first tear slipped free, Chloe reached over with her free hand to wipe it away and gently shook her head.

Fingers tapped purposefully against her cheek once, then a second time.

_No._

And as Chloe's fingers slipped from her cheek and brushed over her lips before linking with her own, she let the tears fall without holding back. She had expected to be pushed away and blamed and anything other than…**this**. Despite everything that had led to this moment and this loss, Chloe didn't blame her and that was enough to send her on a tailspin into the emotions that she had kept inside for so long. She had cast them aside in favor of being strong and silent for Chloe and now the unsaid words were escaping in whimpers and sobs and exhalations of love.

As Chloe slipped back into her dreams and Aubrey watched her sleep, the pinging of the machines and sneakers squeaking in the hallway providing her soundtrack, she reflected on the events of the past few months. Of the fight that had been the last words Chloe would ever speak to her. Of holding her in their too-small bed and comforting her when she couldn't voice the emotions that were building in her chest and behind her eyes. The days of frustration when a tap and a hand gesture weren't nearly enough to pacify her and soothe the ache in her chest for more. The way she looked at that wedding and how she had crawled into bed next to her, looking for some kind of sign of what she was supposed to do. And finally, the resolution that neither of them had ever imagined, but that somehow felt fitting given the tumultuous arc of their relationship over the years that they had been together.

If she were to plot it out on paper and fill in the spaces between blue lines, it would read like a tall tale. Girl meets girl while singing. Girl falls in love with girl. Girl falls out of love with girl. And then everything changes when the very thing that brought them together, ruined it all. She almost didn't believe it herself, but it had happened and she could feel it in her bones. It had become a part of their history and maybe it was just something that would shape them into who they were and who they would become and what they would be. A lesson learnt. A love saved after passing through the lowest of lows that they could imagine. A love forged in hospital stays and long silent nights and a thousand memories of singing and talking into the wee hours of the morning. It was in her heart and her head and reflected in every action that she had taken since meeting that girl and she knew in her hardest of hearts that they would be okay.

She wasn't leaving. She could live with silence and she could live with sound. Chloe was enough.

* * *

And in those long days after, she thought about the concept of healing. The idea that scalpels and precision and labor could make the damage of silence whole with careful snips and tiny repairs. The thought of what could have been if maybe it had worked, of what would have changed. And when she came up with nothing, she allowed herself to heal as well. And in the end, maybe she was the one that needed to recover. She needed to be healed and in that touch and the tap on her cheek and in those painful, but necessary days after, she was finally able to breathe again.

Things were different now, with a certain finality in the air between them, but that didn't mean that it was bad. Different was okay and they were okay. They were recovering together and that was enough.

* * *

Her father had always told her to speak only when spoken to and to choose her words wisely because no one liked a blabbermouth. That sometimes silence was better than sound. That action was the important thing. And when she was young and rebellious, his words seemed damning to her. They were terse and pointed and only led to further back talk and arguments before being sent to her room without dessert. But in her later years, when she could look back with understanding, she finally realized that maybe he was right. That words were merely a tool to express something that was far greater than tone and pitch and tongue hitting teeth. That they could have talked themselves into circles, but it wouldn't have meant as much as a kiss beneath an ear and a hand holding hers tightly. And somehow, that was okay.

They filled the house with music instead. They bought a record player and cratefuls of old vinyl and just allowed the songs to speak for them. They danced and they held each other and let the music fill up the spaces when looks and touches weren't nearly enough. Aubrey prepared dinner to crackling vintage music and they made love to the pops in an album that was coated in dust. They allowed the words to fill in the blanks and sometimes that was all that was needed to make them feel at home.

But in those quiet moments, when they were laying in bed and the crickets chirping outside of the open window wasn't enough to soothe that aching in their hearts, Aubrey would allow herself to speak. Sometimes her own voice would sound foreign within the confines of their home, but as Chloe's fingers ghosted over her throat and pressed against her lips and pushed her along, the worry in her bones dissipated as the words slipped over her teeth.

_I love you._

And in the dim of the moon, she would slip her own fingers over Chloe's lips and melt as she mouthed the words slowly, completely, perfectly. And in the silence of the room, she had never felt them more. They filled her up with love and settled her heart and restless limbs. They were silent, but they said enough to fill up the spaces betrayed by surgeries and quiet. They completed her and calmed her and were enough. Chloe was enough.

And even in silence, sometimes love was enough.

_**Fin.**_


End file.
